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Now, that’s pretty neat. I’m not an educated ivy league Arthur, my writing began after a tragic accident, being filled with anger for being cheated out of life & sad for not being as good as, my therapist told me to pick up a pencil & write on some scratch paper. I didn’t want to do it, but I did so anyway. Slowly, I wrote of how imperfect I am. My chipping & jagged edges shown thru with displays of pain & emotion, combined with hallucination & imagination. Who knew what my therapist was doing? A key was slowly unlocking my mind which was filled with a jig-saw-puzzle. Two years later, out of no-where, I was chased down by a group of crazed, wild eyed college kids/fans wanting to know what happens next in my fantasy novel, “LondenBerg by Lord Biron”. And after recovering, believe it or not, I had to tell a bunch of bookstores that I don’t want them to order a bunch of “LondenBerg by Lord Biron” books because I don’t want to be famous. Now that’s a first. Wait a second, you got to be kidding me. I better grab my coffee, laptop & a taxi because here they come again!